


Pax

by AndromedaPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Mech Preg, Mechpreg, Megatron makes an appearance, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sparklings, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:03:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starscream and Optimus Prime unwittingly unravel Megatron's best-laid plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pax

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a pairing I never entertained the notion of until I read [this](http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=14592661) particular tfanonkink prompt.

What finally woke him up was the sound of a spark monitor.

He was in a medical facility somewhere; he hoped he was being tended to by Ratchet after he had been blacked-out in the middle of the Chihuahuan desert. The lack of comforting electromagnetic fields told him otherwise, however.

The Decepticons had been raiding the town of Villa Ahumada, terrorizing the residents in their search for an energon deposit in the outskirts of the town. The terrorized cries in Spanish had told him that they had lived through a raid like this before, but in the form of other humans instead of Decepticons.

He felt guilty as he crushed a small building in the little town by throwing Megatron atop it. The Decepticon leader rose to his pedes and ordered his Decepticons to retreat, and the Autobots followed at Optimus’s command.

Which was probably his biggest mistake.

Had he not followed the Decepticons and been at the head of the charge he probably wouldn’t have had someone knock him in the helm.

As his optics onlined and he roused to full wakefulness, Optimus looked around the dark medical bay. He wondered if his Autobots had at least tried to get him back from the clutches of the Decepticons.

To his left was a drip bag hanging on a rod, and a long tube was inserted into his neck cables, pumping some sort of liquid into his systems. He wanted to remove the needle and tube and wanted to demand to know what was being pumped into him, because the clear liquid being forced into his frame was most definitely _not_ energon, but he found himself cuffed down to the berth.

Optimus tried to speak. His vocalizer failed him.

“Yeah yeah, he’s fine. Physically at least.”

Out of the corner of his optics the Prime saw the frame of the Decepticon medic, Hook, walking from one side of the medical bay to the other. Swift servos reached up and opened cabinet doors, and Hook brought out a vial full of the same clear liquid that was in the drip bag. The medic walked over to the rod right next to Optimus and opened the vial, grabbed another tube that led into the bag, and poured the contents into the tube. Both mechs watched as the liquid trickled into the bag, soon to be forced into the Autobot Prime’s frame.

“Tell our fearsome Lord Megatron that his prize’ll be ready in a klik or two. I’ll just speed up how much this thing drips.”

True to his word, Hook fiddled with something on the other side of the metallic rod, and within moments the lingering dull warmth that permeated Optimus’s pelvic plating became something incredibly fierce. It burned like a hazy, pleasant fire, a strong inferno that needed to be put out immediately.

He tried to move his legs, but his entire frame was cuffed to the berth. He could hardly move, couldn’t speak, and didn’t know what was going on.

The Prime emitted a soft noise, one of the few ones he found himself able to make. His tanks tightened and churned at the thought of what could happen to him right now – he imagined Megatron coming in and finishing him off without giving him a chance to fight.

That wouldn’t have been fair, because Optimus would have given Megatron a fighting chance had their positions been reversed. Then again, the Decepticon warlord was not known for his fairness.

“Ah shut it you scrapheap,” Hook replied to the noise. Optimus merely widened his optics. Hook turned around and smirked at the almost-helpless expression on the Autobot’s faceplates. “Don’t look so helpless, Prime. Don’t know helpless until Megatron gets a hold of you.”

Just as was said, the doors to the medical bay were forced open and the terrifying form of the Decepticon warlord stalked in. Optimus saw the smug silver faceplates hover in his visual field, but he couldn’t do anything except fantasize about ripping that unsightly bucket-shaped helm clean off his shoulders. He narrowed his optics, and Megatron smirked, laughing deviously.

“Has the chemical been streamed into his frame?”

“Yes Lord Megatron.”

“No damage to any of his internals, and in particular his-”

“Nothing is faulty Lord Megatron, not that my scanners told me at least.” Hook shrugged and released the cuffs from the berth. They retracted into the metal surface and Optimus immediately could feel his frame again.

He was still slow and sluggish, however. Optimus tried his best to shoot off the berth and throw Megatron into the wall but the most he was able to accomplish was quickly sit up, swing his legs off the berth, and faceplant completely on the floor. He had no strength to get up, and only could protest in his mind and verbally when the Decepticon warlord picked him up and draped him over his shoulders with no trouble whatsoever.

“No… M-Mega… tron…”

“Yes, Optimus,” the silver mech replied in a mocking tone as he walked through the halls of the Decepticon base.

Optimus Prime had no energy to look up and away from the warlord’s backside, but his audios caught the sounds of the rest of the Decepticons gathering in the corridors and jeering at him, hurling insults his way. As he would have done even if he were not a prisoner of the Decepticons, he merely let the insults bounce off his armor.

His entire frame was beginning to heat up, the fire in his pelvic plating spreading to every micrometer of his body. He tried squirming his way out of Megatron’s grip, tried to kick him in the faceplates but it did nothing.

It was then that he noticed that the insults had gone away, as had the frames of everyone else. They were no longer in the bright corridors of the base, but rather in the dark brig at the lowermost level of the Decepticon hideout.

The cells were all empty, which was a good sign that at least none of the other Autobots had been captured. And it was a bad sign in that he would be completely alone.

Megatron suddenly stopped. The sound of the barred gate opening hit Optimus’s audios. A moment after it stopped, Megatron unceremoniously threw him on the floor and the gate shut on him. Optimus righted himself so he was sitting up and glared at the Decepticon warlord, trying his best to ignore the heat in his systems.

The Decepticon leader pressed himself against the bars of the gate and smirked at Optimus. “Feeling the heat, aren’t you Prime?”

This time, the heat intensified in Optimus’s faceplates. He scooted back on the floor slightly and huffed. Primus, he wanted something to relieve this ache. “What have you done to me, Megatron?”

Wrapping his servos around two bars of the gate that separated him and his worst adversary, Megatron chuckled. “You see Prime, I am tired of losing. Tired and tired of losing to the likes of you and your Autobots. The Decepticons have strength and by default we should have won this war long ago, but I have to contend with my Decepticons _whispering_ about my inability to lead for eons. No more. I have always told my dearest enemy my plans before I went through with them. And just before I could, I would find myself foiled. So Prime,” Megatron ran his glossa over his lipplates, the motion unsettling Optimus, “do you honestly believe that I will tell you what I am planning to do now?”

Optimus stayed quiet, but he hardened his glare. He curled his servos into fists and planted them on the floor, one on each side of his frame.

Megatron only chuckled sinisterly and stepped back. “I’ll be leaving you here to stew, Prime. Have a nice recharge, and don’t let the heat _melt_ you.”

The Prime watched through hazy blue optics as the Decepticon warlord walked out of the brig and shut the heavy metal door that led to the series of cells. He lay on the floor and spread his frame, exventing heavily as he did what he could to try and expend the heat buildup. He squirmed and writhed on the floor as his systems inexplicably cried out for some other bot to relieve the aching in his systems, in his frame. His sighs came hot and heavy.

Optimus tried to contact the Autobots, but it was futile as it seemed they’d disabled his communication links.

Great. He would likely be here all night.

.-.-.

The sight of an unconscious Optimus Prime thrown over Megatron’s shoulder struts like that little human toy called a ragdoll gladdened his spark.

He would rather it had been him leading the Decepticons, and him celebrating this victory of successfully capturing the Prime, but he would take what he could get. Megatron was not long for his leadership anyway.

The second-in-command of the Decepticon army made certain that not a dent was in sight and not a speck of rust or dust was on his frame as he slowly made his way down to the brig in the middle of the night. He had to be excruciatingly careful to not trip up any alarms, and of course when he had to enter a code to bypass security he would only remember the slagging set of numbers at the very last moment.

Wings arched high in the air, Starscream strolled down the set of stairs leading to the dank cells, doing his best to hide his eagerness from the mech he was about to see.

The oh-so-mighty Megatron had dumped Optimus Prime on a medical berth in Hook’s medical bay and then locked himself, Soundwave, and Shockwave in his meeting room, explicitly forbidding Starscream from entering. The Seeker had heard something about not being allowed into the room because “glitch will ruin my plans!”

Well for once, whatever it was Megatron had planned, Starscream was not on a mission to unravel it. All he wanted was the Prime.

He had lusted after the Prime for quite a while, appreciating the tall broad-shouldered frame that tapered down to a slim waist, which led to long sturdy legs. That deep voice, just the sound of it could make any bot lose their mind in an overload. Those blue optics were hypnotic, and the helm design, with those enticing blue finials, was beautiful, he had to admit. Of course, of the both of them, Starscream was the most beautiful.

But he digressed…

His pedes met the floor of the brig, the sound echoing in the empty cells. He nearly cringed and waited a moment for an alarm to begin blaring, but nothing happened.

Then he heard a small shuffle of pedes at the other end of the hallway.

Pulling himself up to his full height, wings pulled slightly away from his backstrut, the Seeker preened as he strode confidently toward the cell. He imagined what the Prime looked like in the little cold gated room. He was probably dejectedly sitting on the pathetically small slab called a berth, looking at the wall, pondering on what Megatron was going to do to him. But that wasn’t a concern for him.

All he was concerned about was whether or not the Prime was a good frag in the berth.

Starscream came to the final brig and stared through the gaps in the bars to the Prime on the other side. Blue optics met his red ones. Starscream flicked his wings and laughed.

“Being treated well, Prime?”

Optimus simply stared back and nodded. “I am alive as of now, so I would assume that this is as well as I can be treated. By the Decepticons, at least.” Blue optics narrowed suspiciously at the Seeker. “What is Megatron planning to do to me?”

Starscream scoffed and made a dismissive motion with his servo. “Frag if I know. The glitchhead wouldn’t allow me to know. Pulled Soundwave and Shockwave into that meeting room but wouldn’t let me in. _Me!_ His own second-in-command!” His wings arched high in the air, this time in anger. “I’m more important than those two, and he wouldn’t let me in!”

The almost-bored look in Optimus’s optics reminded him of his original quest. Starscream calmed his tone as much as he could and relaxed his wings. “But that is neither here nor there, Prime. I do not know what it is that Megatron is planning for you. However,” he bypassed the security and allowed the gate to lift up, “ _I_ do know what I am planning for you.”

He had expected Optimus to get up and fight and flee, but the Prime stayed staring at him from his place on the floor, which unnerved the Seeker.

A moment later, after he finished talking and the gate had finished making noise in its upwards ascent, Starscream’s audios picked up the sound of someone’s fans working at a high capacity. And it certainly was not his own.

The air around the Prime’s frame trembled, and he felt… hot. Starscream sniffed the air, and it smelled of an enticing scent. It smelled musty. A mixture of energon and lubricant and a unique metallic tinge and… oh Primus.

It hit him.

Optimus Prime was in _heat_.

Well, the Autobot would probably be far more receptive to this than he had previously thought.

Starscream’s optics widened and he took a step forward, putting himself closer to the Prime’s personal bubble. And the Prime did not flinch or move back.

.-.-.

Though annoying, the Prime had gotten somewhat used to the raging inferno in his systems that demanded a good interface. He stared at the Seeker above him and retracted his facemask. The motion startled the mech, evidenced by the red optics widening.

He had figured out Megatron’s intentions the moment he smelled his own scent, realizing he was in a forced heat cycle. He had not had one in quiet a number of stellar cycles so it probably could have been a coincidence, but chances were much much higher that the liquid that Hook had pumped into him was the cause of all this.

A interface for the Prime. How original, Optimus thought blithely. But he wasn’t going to give it to him.

Optimus looked Starscream in the optics, knowing full well that the Seeker had the exact same intentions as Megatron did. “Here is where I would normally fight and flee from this brig, and make my way out of this base while combating the rest of the Decepticons. I now know what it is that Megatron has planned for me – he likely wants to frag me in full view of his army, as a way to assert his power over me and to humiliate me. And I likely would allow it if it weren’t for the nagging, persistent ache in my systems that demand a relief.”

Starscream’s optics widened even further, which the Prime didn’t know was possible. Optimus decided that bluntness would be his game. “I will willingly give you what Megatron seeks by force.”

With that, he parted his legs and his panel snapped open. There had been a large buildup of lubricants hiding behind that blue interfacing panel, which trickled down his thighs and aft onto the cold floor beneath him.

Optimus watched the Seeker closely, watched how his inhalation rate spiked through the roof and into the sky and stars, how the wings flattened against his back. But he was moving far too slow for his liking, or his patience. Optimus swung one of his legs and felled the Decepticon second-in-command so Starscream planted facefirst on his abdominal plating, eliciting a pained grunt from the Autobot Commander.

The mech finally seemed to come to his senses, and the dark grey and black helm trailed down his abdomen, pelvic plating, and then _oh_ that was wonderful as the Seeker’s glossa flattened against the rim of his valve and his lipplates brushed over the extremely sensitive anterior node. The fire that had permeated his systems returned full-force to his pelvic plating. Optimus moaned wantonly, his deep voice making the air vibrate, and he lifted his hips so Starscream had more valve to nip and suck at, but then the Seeker pinned his hips down and went at it ferociously.

Optimus panted with each lick and thrust of a glossa into his valve, squirmed and shook with each sensor node that was stimulated. Fingers probed at his wet and swollen folds and wormed their way into his valve. The digits and the glossa were divine, and the Prime wondered how Starscream had gotten this talented.

The Seeker fixed his lipplates around the anterior node again and sucked.

“Ohhhhhh.” Optimus moaned and lay back on the floor, arching his back ever so slightly. His processor wandered, and he thought of how much worse it would have been had he let Megatron take him instead.

The Decepticon’s glossa nipped and suckled at the swollen folds a few moments more, savoring the delicious reactions he got out of the normally stoic Prime, and then opened his interfacing panel. Starscream’s spike, a shade of dark grey with red biolights running from base to tip, sprung forth. Optimus said nothing, only wrapping his legs around the red Seeker’s waist.

Starscream wasted no time in surging forth, encasing his spike in wet heat. Both mechs moaned wantonly, the pleasure in their pelvic regions surging around the rest of their frames.

Primus, the Autobot was tight. He wasn’t a sealed mech, not that Starscream expected him to be with the rumors of Megatron and Optimus abounding, but it was plainly clear that Optimus Prime hadn’t been spiked in a long, long while.

It surprised the Seeker. He thought perhaps one of the Autobots would have tried taking him to berth.

But that was none of his concern as he gently moved his hips, slowly sliding his spike out of the wet valve and then quickly surging back forth. Their mixed fluids spilled out of the Prime’s valve, staining their thighs and the floor beneath them.

“S-Star-scream,” Optimus moaned, opening optics he wasn’t aware that he had closed and looking at the Seeker through near-white optics. Starscream looked absolutely blissful as he thrust in and out, optics closed and wings arching up in the air and fluttering, which Optimus guessed was a sign that he was thoroughly enjoying this.

“P-Prime, oh, you’re _so tight_ ,” Starscream said in a lustful tone, which then became a yell as he lived up to his name, shouting as the rippling calipers of the Prime’s valve clutched as his spike and making him overload on the spot. Optimus, feeling the gush of hot transfluids flooding his valve, hit his peak right after, shouting the Seeker’s name through a strained voice.

In the throes of overload Starscream was still able to thrust thrice more before his strength gave out, and the Decepticon immediately fell down on the Autobot.

Their fans worked to cool them down, and they were a horrible mess of tangled limbs and sticky viscous fluids. Before they could completely cool down, however, their processors and main systems shut down for a fitful recharge cycle.

It seemed a minute later that they were awakened by a horrible roar.

“STAAAARRRRRSSSCREEEAAAMMM!!!”

The Seeker onlined his optics and stared at Optimus in momentary confusion before he was wrenched off the Prime’s frame, trail of sticky fluids flooding the floor as his spike slid out of the Prime’s valve. Megatron appeared in Optimus’s visual field as he held the Seeker above the ground in a chokehold, then viciously threw him against the opposite wall, where the Seeker crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Megatron was the most furious that Optimus had ever seen him. The Prime stared at the mech, noting that his valve was still bared and the ache in his systems that had cried out for a frag gone, and closed his interfacing panel. He watched as Starscream got to his pedes and ran out of the brig, an angry Megatron right at his pedes and shouting many obscenities at the Seeker.

There was a lot of noise on the upper levels as Megatron chased his second-in-command, his aggravated shouting mixing with the startled cries and yells of the other Decepticons. He heard laserfire, and dared to step out of the confines of the cell – the glitchheaded Decepticon warlord and his second-in-command hadn’t closed the thing.

Optimus ran toward the stairs and up them, and was greeted by the sight of Bumblebee and Wheeljack tackling Soundwave.

“Prime!” Wheeljack’s audio fins flashed in greeting. A moment later Ironhide ran past him and his fist met Thundercracker’s faceplates. The blue Seeker squawked and fell into a wall, making a Seeker-sized hole in it.

“Autobots! Who else is here?!”

Soundwave tried releasing his cassettes but Bumblebee sat on his chassis. “It’s me, Wheeljack, and Ironhide in this part! Hound and Mirage are on the upper level! Did they do anything to you? You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“I am fine, Bumblebee.” It was a half-truth, and all that he needed to reveal just now. Optimus caught sight of Megatron and Starscream running toward their current position. He didn’t have his blaster, and he couldn’t change his arm into his energon axe. “Wheeljack, Ironhide, headed your way!”

Both mechs knocked the two highest-ranking officials of the Decepticon army out.

.-.-.

Optimus watched Ratchet examine him back at the Ark. The sparkrate monitor was hooked up to his chassis, ensuring that he was still living and kicking (though Optimus could have told the medic that himself). He knew that the medic had seen the scuffs and paint transfers in the pelvic region, but Ratchet said nothing for now.

“Well, your sparkrate was high when you were brought back here but that’s to be expected given what you went through, Optimus. Still is slightly high, so I’ll have to give you a while to calm it down. Scans of your internals,” Ratchet trailed off a moment as he produced a scanning wand from the nearest cabinet and waved it over the Prime’s frame. The wand made a clicking noise when it was done, and Ratchet unraveled a double-ended plug, plugging one end into the scanner and the other into the datapad he held. “Scans of your internals show nothing out of place, nothing missing and nothing add…” the medic held the datapad closer to his optics, astounded expression on his faceplates.

Optimus shifted uncomfortably on the berth and looked around the white medical bay, becoming very interested in the blankness of the walls and the silver sheen of the metallic berths.

“Optimus,” Ratchet cleared his vocalizer and cast a critical optic at the Prime. “Optimus, do you care to explain why you have a sparkling growing in your gestation tank?”

The words confused Optimus. Sparkling? What sparkling? He wasn’t…

_Oh. Oh Primus._

The Prime felt like he was going to pull a Prowl and glitch and fall to the floor. Instead he leaned back on the berth and stared with wide blue optics at some point on the wall furthest away from him. Sparkling. Sparkling.

It made sense now. Megatron’s plan wasn’t to ravish him in front of his entire army.

“Optimus, I expect an answer sometime this millennium. Why do you have a sparkling on board?”

Blinking his optics at the wall, Optimus shook his helm and looked at the medic. “When I was captured by the Decepticons, I woke up in their medical bay. I had a clear liquid pumped into my systems that forced me into a heat cycle, and it would seem, was instrumental in the appearance of this sparkling you’ve found.”

He saw the medic’s optics narrow in concentration. “A clear liquid you say?”

“Yes. It looked like what’s called “water” here on Earth.”

The medic’s optical ridges furrowed in thought, then he grabbed a syringe out of his subspace. “I’m going to need to take a sample of the energon in your systems, Optimus. I have a feeling it might be something I haven’t seen in quite a while.”

Optimus yanked his arm back, but Ratchet reached forward and brought the arm toward him, sticking the needle between armor plates. He ignored the pained yelp that Optimus gave and when the syringe was half-full, all that he needed to test, he removed the needle. He held the syringe up to his optics and activated zoom-in vision, scanning the contents of the energon he had taken from the Prime. Only 99.1% of the makeup of the liquid in the syringe was energon – the other 0.9% was something else.

“I’ll have to run some further tests to determine this but nearly a percent of the energon I took from your systems is likely a chemical that was manufactured in the old days of Cybertron.”

“Which chemical is it?”

“The name escapes me at this moment but do you remember the time in the first few stellar cycles of the existence of our race that we almost died out?”

“I do. There were few sparklings being born because heat cycles do not come often, the gestation period is long and arduous, and there were not many mated couples on Cybertron.”

“Okay, so you do remember your history. This chemical,” Ratchet pointed at the energon, “that was pumped into your energon by the Decepticons is more than likely the same chemical that was manufactured by medics and scientists during that dry period of Cybertronian reproduction. What happened as you were being injected with it? Did it give you an insatiable urge to interface?”

Optimus stared at Ratchet. He activated his facemask and stared at his thighs, at the leftover scratches and scrapes that evidenced his coupling with the Decepticon second-in-command.

“I figured,” the medic nodded. “This chemical, when injected into a bot, eliminated the wait for a heat cycle. It made a bot feel overcome with the urge to interface. This chemical also guaranteed a sparking in the first try, and also allows a sparkling to fully gestate in half the normal time. So,” Ratchet walked to the other end of the room and placed the syringe in its appropriate container so he could analyze the sample later, “since it did just appear, you can still choose whether or not to-”

“I will not terminate, Ratchet. I cannot bring myself to do so.”

The medic cast a glance over his shoulder strut, looking directly at the Prime. The Autobots all loved and respected their Prime… but sometimes he could be quite the self-sacrificing glitch. Sighing and meandering to the cupboard that contained a small stash of energon nutrients (of which he’d have to make more), he grabbed a vial and deposited the contents into an energon cube, handing it to the Prime. “Then drink up.”

Optimus did, cringing at the awful taste that the extra nutrients gave the otherwise perfectly fine-tasting energon.

“Oh, and Prime?”

He looked up at the medic, who held another datapad in his servos.

“Who was it?”

Optimus finished the cube. “It was Megatron’s plan to humiliate me by fragging me, likely in front of his troops, and then putting a sparkling within me. Unfortunately for him, Starscream came down to the brig in the middle of the night and…” he trailed off, but he felt he needn’t elaborate any further.

Ratchet stared hard at the Prime. He closed his optics, shook his helm, then reopened his optics. “You interfaced with Starscream, the treacherous second-in-command of the Decepticons, and got yourself sparked by him to spite Megatron?”

“Well… yes. I felt it would be better to give away freely what Megatron wanted to take from me.”

A moment later, Ratchet turned around and walked away from the berth.

Another moment after, a wrench hit Optimus’s helm.

.-.-.

Compounded into human time units, it would have taken Optimus 20 months to fully gestate the sparkling.

He was somewhat grateful for the chemical and the fact that only ten months after the fact, he was screeching and crying on the medical berth in Ratchet’s medbay, in the throes of emergence. The medic’s servos massaged the rim of his valve, which was stretching to unholy proportions as the sparkling’s helm made its way down.

“Just wait for the next one and push as long as it lasts!”

Optimus raised his helm from the berth and his optics flared; he could hardly see the medic above the swell of his abdominal plating. “What do you think I have been doing, Ratchet?!”

The medic smiled and patted his thigh. Optimus wanted to kick him, but he had to scream again and arch his back as another contraction hit him. He had never been in this world of pain before, and he hoped that he would never experience it again.

“Push push push, you’re doing great!”

He felt the sparkling’s helm breach the rim of his valve. Primus, that was _painful_.

“Push!”

With a strangled cry, Optimus gave a final heave, and shouted when the sparkling’s entire frame slipped out of his body. He heard the splashing of fluids onto the floor below but he paid it no mind as he struggled to sit halfway up and reached an arm out for the sparkling, who was now squalling.

Ratchet coaxed Optimus to lie back and placed the sparkling on his chassis, still wet with birth fluids and attached by an umbilical line. The medic chuckled as he cleaned the tiny frame off. “It’s been eons since I’ve delivered a sparkling, and you’ve got a little femme.”

Optimus cradled the sparkling to his chassis, and saw Starscream in miniature. The faceplates were his light grey instead of dark, and the optics blue instead of the unsettling crimson red of the Decepticons. She stared up at him, crying through tears, and reached for her carrier’s face.

He offered her a blue digit, and she grabbed it with equally blue digits.

Her wings… they were just like her sire’s.

The Autobots hadn’t seen much activity from the Decepticons for quite a while. He had inquired after the welfare of the Decepticon second-in-command, and had been told by scouts that Starscream was still functioning, and apparently oblivious to the fact that he had sired a sparkling. Optimus doubted that Megatron would have told him his true intentions, for if he had, Starscream would likely defect and strike out on his own to find his child.

His daughter.

She yawned and moved her legs, flicked her wings, blue optics fluttering closed. She clutched to her carrier’s digit like it was a lifeline.

“Designation?”

“Pax.” Optimus smiled and stroked her helm with another digit. “Peace. Which I hope she may see between us and the Decepticons within her lifetime.”

Pax’s optics fluttered under their covers. Optimus was enamored with his daughter.

.-.-.

His spark ached. He rubbed a blue servo over his cockpit and frowned at the tug on his life force.

Megatron was preaching to the Decepticons again, the slaghead. He could give better, more inspiring speeches than that mech.

Megatron had never explained to him what he had planned for the Autobot commander those months ago that they were found in such a debauched position on the brig floor. Megatron had thrown him around and shouted that he had let Optimus Prime get away. Really though, if Starscream had been in charge, he knew Optimus Prime wouldn’t have gotten away.

Well, now he knew that the Prime was an excellent frag.

…what would it take to get the war to end so he could have the Prime every solar cycle?


End file.
